


Confessions

by inlovewithnight



Category: Hornblower
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-02-12
Updated: 2006-02-12
Packaged: 2017-10-17 21:37:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/181409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inlovewithnight/pseuds/inlovewithnight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Post-"The Duchess and the Devil."</p>
    </blockquote>





	Confessions

**Author's Note:**

> Post-"The Duchess and the Devil."

_I’ve missed this_

Archie was surprised by the thought, but it was true; he had missed the chatter and roar of a portside town. Even the filth and the smell and the fights, the whores and the pickpockets, all made it feel like home.

The laughter, the taste of ale and roast beef, the cool moist air against his skin—those felt like home as well, as he’d expected they would, and he raised a silent toast to whatever good spirits had steered him back here again. Or perhaps he should thank the ones that had steered Horatio’s prize ship into the Spanish fleet.

Thinking of Horatio made him smile, as it always did of late, and he hid the expression behind his mug to avoid having to explain it to the officer seated beside him. An affable acting lieutenant a few years Archie’s senior, the man was well into his cups and had been telling mildly interesting but by no means enthralling tales for nearly an hour now, which Archie had stopped really listening to once it became clear that his participation in the conversation was not required.

“What ship did you say you were from?”

The sudden appearance of a question in the stream of verbiage startled Archie so that he nearly choked on his drink. “Oh, I—the, ah, Indefatigable.”

Acting Lieutenant Weston’s eyes grew a bit wider, and his lips curved into a distinct smirk that Archie found somewhat disturbing. “Really. Then I presume you are acquainted with a Mr. Horatio Hornblower?”

“Of course.” Archie traced his thumb over the scratches along the edge of the table, his face scrupulously neutral. “Lieutenant Hornblower and I are splitting the cost of lodgings on this leave, in fact.” The costs, the benefits—well, that was nobody’s business but theirs.

“Really,” Weston said again, blinking slowly and still wearing that infernal smirk. “Well, I suppose you won’t have to worry about him taking up too much time in the room, should you want a little privacy.”

It was Archie’s turn to blink, utterly baffled by the statement. “I’m afraid I don’t quite take your meaning, sir.”

“Ah.” Weston waved for another round. “Haven’t served with him very long, have you?”

Archie made a noncommittal sound, seeing no reason to attempt to explain the particulars, and tried to push aside his growing uneasiness with the tenor of the conversation.

Weston seemed to be enjoying his confusion thoroughly. “Well, let me put it this way—where is the fine young lieutenant tonight?”

“He was invited to join in a card game with some of the officers of the Cressida.” Officers well senior to him; it would have been terribly impolitic to decline, for all Horatio’s irritation at having to scrap their plans for spending the evening together.

“Oh, of course,” Weston said dryly, taking a sip of his drink. “There are any number of officers in the fleet who consider it a great gift of fortune to be in port at the same time as Mr. Hornblower. Among those of a certain _inclination_ , it’s considered nearly as fine a piece of luck as taking a prize ship.”

Archie froze, his hand clenching so tightly that his tankard might have broken if it hadn’t been intended to survive the abuses of sailors. “I am certain I must misunderstand your implication, sir.”

Weston shrugged. “Come now, lad, surely you’re not so naïve as to think that only women can buy advancement between the sheets.”

“I am certain, sir, that you would not make such shocking allegations without proof.” Archie was privately amazed that his voice could emerge so cold and formal, given the near-hysterical whirling of his mind.

“I’d say you could ask half the officers in the fleet, lad, but those who know are passing familiar with the need to be discreet, as you might expect.”

“And yourself,” Archie said with as much biting sarcasm as he could muster. “The breathing soul of discretion.”

Weston shrugged again. “I can admit that he’s a pretty one, but my tastes are not so inclined. No concern of mine what others get up to in their off-hours, though.”

“I’m afraid I must take my leave of you now, sir,” Archie said, shoving his chair back from the table and fumbling in his pocket for the price of his drinks. “Good night.”

“No reason you have to believe me, of course,” Weston said with that same smirking smile. “But if you’d like proof positive, you could ask the young lieutenant himself, whenever he gets in.”

Archie pushed past him and out of the taproom, hurrying into the blessedly cool evening air. God willing, it would clear his head and ease the sudden anxious pounding of his heart.

 _It can’t possibly…Horatio?_

It was nearly impossible to imagine the eternally cautious Mr. Hornblower behaving in the way Weston had implied…but not _entirely_ impossible, Archie found to his vast consternation. The plain fact was that Horatio’s customary restraint made him damnedably difficult to read most of the time. He could have worlds of secrets behind that impassive face, a notion that had troubled Archie often enough for his nerves to be easily disturbed now.

He decided, by the time he reached their lodgings, that the majority of his discomfort came from the possibility that Horatio could conceal things so completely from him, rather than the idea of him having other lovers. Horatio had seen nearly into the depths of Archie’s soul in Spain, had encountered all of the worst of his secrets, and so Archie had seen little point in holding anything else back from him. He’d opened his past and his heart to the man entirely. The idea that behind that compassionate, inscrutable face, Horatio was keeping secrets from him… _that_ was why he was so off-balance now.

He let himself into their room and closed the door tightly behind him, closing his eyes for a moment. Images rose up unbidden in his mind, a mixture of memory and uneasy fancy. _The pale lines of Horatio’s back revealed as he undressed; his muscles quivering under caressing hands; Horatio sinking to his knees and looking up, dark eyes full of promise; the sounds he made in the heat of it, soft moans and gasps that could only be found when someone broke through that shell of pride—_

Archie bit back a curse and stepped away from the door. It was never prudent to dwell on thoughts of a lover’s past liaisons. That way lay only madness. _Haven’t you read Othello enough to know to ignore the words of a croaking Iago? Put Weston out of your mind._

He drew a deep breath and sat down beside the window with his book, trying to focus on the words and ignore the distracting images that would not seem to clear from his mind. He scowled down at the unoffending pages. If it was true…damn Horatio as a fool, for being so careless and indiscreet.

If it was true. Which it wasn’t. The very idea was absurd.  
***  
Horatio arrived back at the room in a lighthearted mood, smelling strongly of good liquor, and several hours after Archie had settled into the chair with nothing to do but stare blankly at his book and brood. Which was to say that, through no fault of his own, Horatio arrived back at the room in precisely the wrong manner.

He recounted the highs of the evening while he hung up his jacket and pulled off his boots, laughing softly at how he and a Lieutenant Samuels took a game on nothing but bravado, and how one of the other officers insisted that they all switch chairs after each hand to prevent the buildup of “ill-luck humors” around the table, and God knew all what else until he finally noticed that his audience wasn’t paying the slightest bit of attention. “Archie?” he asked, frowning slightly and placing his boots in the corner. “Is something wrong?”

“I’m not sure,” Archie admitted after a moment, still studying the pages of his book as if the secret to eternal life was encoded among the lines. “I had a rather…odd encounter this evening.”

“Encounter,” Horatio echoed, settling himself on the edge of the bed and ducking his head in the manner he had when considering something. “How so?”

“A brother officer saw fit to share a rumor with me, one that suggested your evening might not be entirely occupied with playing whist.”

Horatio went still. “Indeed.” His chin dropped even farther, nearly meeting his chest, his eyes carefully fixed on the floor in front of him. “Might I enquire as to this officer’s name?”

“Acting Lieutenant Jonathan Weston.”

“Might I enquire as to the name of his ship?”

“What bloody difference does it make?” Archie snapped. “I’d be more concerned about the content of the rumor. Though I don’t think it’s too much of a stretch for me to assume from your demeanor that you already know what I’m referring to.”

Horatio nodded slowly, eyes still stubbornly fixed on the floor, his jaw slowly firming into an obstinate line. Archie could see him withdrawing into himself, retreating into that distant sheltered place behind his eyes, and where it normally frustrated him, tonight it lit a spark of anger.

“Well?” he asked. “Do you have anything to say?”

“What would you like me to say?” Horatio said quietly, rubbing his palms together between his knees.

“Well, I don’t know, perhaps you could explain just how you could be so _reckless_ ,” Archie hissed at him. “What in God’s name were you thinking?”

Horatio sat up straighter at that, and finally looked at him, irritation flashing in his eyes. “I’d thank you not to pass judgments on things you know nothing about.”

“But I _do_ know, Horatio; the fact that I know enough for us to have this conversation means that somewhere along the line you were unfortunately indiscreet.”

“They’re only rumors,” Horatio said, his voice dropping to a near-whisper, his eyes drifting back to stare at the floor. “Supposition. Nothing that would stand up to direct inquiry.”

“And yet you don’t deny it.”

Horatio’s jaw tightened still further, his face settling into the careful opacity that meant he would not tell a lie and did not want to speak the truth, and Archie couldn’t help but laugh, looking at him. It was a sharp, bitter sound without much genuine humor, but it did make Horatio look at him again.

“The virtuous Lieutenant Hornblower,” Archie said, scarcely aware of what words were bubbling up inside him until they had escaped. “Also the pretty toy of the fleet, it seems.”

Horatio’s mask cracked a bit at that; Archie had hit home enough to prick his temper. “Watch yourself, Mr. Kennedy.”

“Ah. And he reminds me of my place.”

Perhaps Archie could read him better than he’d thought; or perhaps Horatio was having difficulty recovering his reserve in such close quarters. At any rate, his frustration was written clearly on his face now. “Archie…” He hesitated, swallowing. “You were dead. And even…before, we were not…”

“No. We were not.” He took a deep breath, struggling to steady himself. “And yes, I know that you thought I was dead, Horatio, but you have to understand that it is _difficult_ …I spent two years rotting alive in prison while you were slipping off into dark rooms with any senior officer who could offer a—”

“It wasn’t like that!” Horatio snapped, fists clenching at his sides. “Damn it, Archie, it…” He trailed off, blinking, and looked at Archie more closely. “You’re jealous.”

“That would be ridiculous.” Archie tapped his book against the arm of his chair, resolutely not looking at Horatio. “Of course I’m not jealous.”

“You are.” Horatio’s voice had softened considerably. “Archie. It wasn’t like that.”

“Enlighten me, Horatio. What was it like, then?”

Horatio’s mouth opened soundlessly for a moment, before he clenched his jaw and closed his eyes. “It was…shortly after you were lost, and I was ashore, and he was a senior lieutenant from the Aurora, and I…well. You recall how easily I was awed by rank, Archie.”

Archie bit down on his tongue at the use of the past tense, saying nothing, waiting for Horatio to continue.

“He approached me, and I could hardly…” Horatio’s voice had gone soft and wavering, uncertain in his memories. “It would not have been proper for a junior officer to…”

“Yes,” Archie said flatly, swallowing hard against a sudden sinking in the pit of his stomach. “I am somewhat familiar with the scenario.”

Horatio’s head snapped up, a shocked look on his face. “Oh! No, Archie, it wasn’t…” He trailed off again, visibly struggling to get such words past his native reticence. “He didn’t…I wasn’t hurt.” He ducked his head again, a fierce blush coloring his face and his voice dropping off to nearly nothing. “Quite the opposite.”

Archie leaned forward a bit in his chair, watching the conflict of emotions play out on Horatio’s face, hearing the strain in his voice as he searched for words that didn’t come naturally.

“I didn’t know that there were others who wanted such things,” he said, his voice still barely audible. “Well, I knew, but I hadn’t…” He shook his head. “It was such a relief. It was like…being free. And I knew I shouldn’t permit it to happen again, but I…I wasn’t strong enough to stop myself…” He raised his head, finally meeting Archie’s eyes, sadness and self-loathing in his own.

“I suppose that explains why you weren’t nervous in Spain, the first time,” Archie said finally, after a long moment of searching fruitlessly for words.

“But I was,” Horatio said, shaking his head wearily. One hand came up and dragged through his curls, leaving his queue lopsided and disorderly. “I was terrified. It was the first time that it meant something other than…mere physical relief. It wasn’t just an act, it was something that mattered.”

Archie swallowed, remembering the gentle awe on Horatio’s face the first time they had touched as lovers, the earnestness of his desire to give as well as take pleasure, the way it had felt to realize that he was with someone who cared for him, who…well. Who mattered.

“I wanted to make you happy,” Horatio went on softly, apparently taking Archie’s silence for further condemnation. “It wasn’t just a crude thing that left me feeling filthy, half an hour in a cheap room and slinking away like a whore. It…it was different. It _is_ different, with you.”

“Horatio,” Archie said, finally forcing words from his throat. “Enough.”

Horatio frowned, still frustrated, and Archie cut him off before he could speak. “It doesn’t matter. It’s forgotten. Pretend I never spoke of it.” He ran his hand over his face, suddenly exhausted. “Please.”

There was a slight creak as the bed shifted, and when he looked up again, he saw that Horatio had moved farther back on the mattress, sitting propped up on his hands and with his knees dangling over the edge. He was studying Archie with an odd look on his face, tilting his head slightly to the side and worrying his lower lip between his teeth. He seemed to come to a decision, his expression becoming more resolute as he nodded slightly to himself. “No,” he said at last. “I don’t believe I can do that.”

“Excuse me?” Normally, Horatio fell on the slightest pretext of a way to avoid confrontation like it was an honor from the King himself. Seeking to prolong a conflict was not at all like him…

Horatio shifted his weight again, freeing his hands to unbutton his waistcoat. “I’ve bared my soul to you now, but that only makes us even. I’ve hurt you with this, whether I intended to or not, and I must make amends.” He slipped the waistcoat off and set it aside, then reached up and began untying his stock, sliding the fabric between his fingers. “Or rather, I owe you a forfeit.”

Archie blinked, confused for a moment longer before the meaning sank in. Not prolonging the conflict, but transmuting it to serve his own ends; yes, that _was_ like Horatio. “You don’t owe me anything.”

“Then consider it a gift.” He tugged the knot free and tossed the strip of cloth aside to join his waistcoat. “An opportunity.”

“I don’t understand what you mean.” Horatio was unbuttoning his trousers now, tugging his shirt free, releasing his hair from its queue.

“Claim me,” Horatio said, pulling his shirt off over his head and then meeting Archie’s eyes with distinct challenge. “Leave no question that I belong to you, to anyone who might see. In essence, Mr. Kennedy…” He moved to the edge of the bed again to slip his trousers off his hips and let them fall to the floor. “Come over here, and take me, and tell the world at large that I am yours.”

Archie said nothing, his throat drying as Horatio peeled off his stockings and tossed them aside as well. The speed of the man’s transformation from fearful penitence to naked, wanton demands was bizarre, but utterly Horatio: he could never be satisfied by binding things up with words, he would always need action, symbols, proof. _I think—perhaps—my fears of not being able to understand him were misplaced._

And yes, he could admit it to himself and God as he finally rose from the chair and crossed to the bed, catching Horatio’s shoulders in his hands and kissing him to make that look of anxiety and need leave his face…the idea of marking his ownership into Horatio’s flesh had a fierce, secret appeal to the darker sides of his mind. The possessive recesses of himself gloated as he pressed Horatio flat against the mattress, holding him down with the weight of his body. _Mine,_ he thought, grinding their mouths together hard enough that it hurt. _Mine, no one else ever again may touch this…_

His rational mind might have pointed out that that was impossible to guarantee, and absurd to want, but he was far from interested in the opinions of his rational mind at that moment. He broke away from Horatio’s mouth to kiss down his throat, biting and sucking at the skin until it reddened and swelled. Marking him indeed, crudely as an animal, and yet it was impossible to care. Not when Horatio was growling encouragement underneath him, and squirming around to get his hands on the buttons of Archie’s trousers.

Archie pulled away long enough to assist with that, impatiently slipping out of the inconvenient garments and tossing his shirt aside as well. As soon as he was free of them, he was on Horatio again, claiming his mouth and rocking their hips together firmly. He felt Horatio groan against his mouth, overwhelmed by the friction and the pressure. He swallowed down the sound, felt the vibration running through Horatio’s body under his hands. He was gripping Horatio’s shoulders again, his thumbs pressed against the smooth arch of the collarbone, and the idea that leaving bruises was precisely the _point_ left him dizzy with shocking, intense desire.

He pulled back again to catch his breath, and Horatio twisted beneath him, turning onto his stomach and struggling to rise to his hands and knees. Archie didn’t allow it, letting his weight fall across Horatio’s body and holding him still, flat against the bed. He buried his face in the curve of Horatio’s shoulder, mouthing at the skin some more while Horatio writhed and muttered in frustrated pleasure, unable to touch him or do anything more than grind his cock against the mattress.

“Mine,” Archie said, lifting his head to nuzzle behind Horatio’s ear. The dark curls tickled his nose and he laughed, the burst of hot air across sensitive skin making Horatio shudder and then go still.

“Always,” he said, his voice rough and muffled, his face still pressed into the sheets. He turned his head to the side—probably just to be able to breathe—and the sight of his reddened face and dark eyes glazed with lust sent Archie wild with need again.

He wedged his hand between Horatio’s body and the mattress, finding Horatio’s cock and taking hold of it, dragging his hand along the hard flesh in firm strokes as he ground his own erection against his lover’s backside. Horatio was cursing between ragged breaths, alternately begging and demanding that Archie fuck him, but there was hardly time for the idea to settle through the fog in Archie’s mind before a final stroke of his hand made Horatio tense and shiver and come against the sheets. A heartbeat later, Archie followed, spilling his seed across Horatio’s skin and collapsing heavily against him.

After a moment Horatio wiggled feebly, and Archie rolled aside, settling on his back and licking the sweat from his lips, vaguely pondering the errant twists and turns of an evening. He let the idea go almost instantly; it too far more energy than it was worth, at the moment.

He opened his eyes and glanced over at Horatio, who was curled on his side facing Archie, a weary, affectionate smile on his face. “Satisfied?” Horatio mumbled, rubbing his cheek against the pillow.

“Entirely.” Archie moved a little closer, feeling the thick blanket of sleep beginning to settle over him. “You make a very persuasive argument…when you want to…”

“Hmm.” Horatio’s eyes were drifting closed. One hand groped out slowly until it found Archie’s, pressing fingers to palm in a vague caress. “Love you.”

“Love you,” Archie echoed, unable to keep his own eyes open another instant, even for the lovely sight of Horatio falling asleep. His last coherent thought before falling asleep was that while the noise and chaos of the docks was comfortingly familiar, he’d been wrong; this, wherever they might be, was home.  



End file.
